


Varangian

by oldfritz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical Hetalia, Historical Hetalia Week 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldfritz/pseuds/oldfritz
Kudos: 3
Collections: Historical Hetalia Week (February 2021)





	Varangian

Byzantine placed the last of his items in a chest: Extra boots, a sack of die, a sack of clay whistles, and a brand new ball. Those were stacked on top of blankets and books and were intended to be gifts for his cousin (excluding the boots). It was early February and he was preparing for his yearly voyage to Bitola. His cousin, Nikolai, had his birthday at the beginning of March and it typically took a few weeks to go from Constantinople to Bitola. Before tomorrow’s dawn, he and his small band of men would be gone for the month. Despite loving his young cousin, Byzantine found himself dreading these trips year after year. He was never on good terms with Nikolai’s mother and despite his attempts to keep a low profile, he had been ambushed more times than he could count.

How lucky he was for the Varangian Guard.

Many of his emperors had had Rus guards, dating back to 874, but Basil officially formed these warriors very recently and had convinced his nation to hire one. Byzantine had never seen the purpose of him, an immortal, being guarded by a human soldier but he was quickly introduced to a man like him. The immortal Danish Viking, who found joining the guard (albeit temporarily) to be an exciting adventure. Thus, Byzantine watched as servants pushed the last of his chests into the carriage and watched as his guard finally arrived. The Dane was staggeringly tall and coated in furs and jewelry. His hair was long, ending at his shoulders, and had braids that framed the hair as it was pulled into a tail. The Dane spotted Byzantine and marched over to him, chest puffed proudly.

“I suppose you’re the one I’m protecting,” the Dane said in broken Greek.

“Yes, only for the month,” Byzantine reminded, “Once we arrive at Bitola, I won’t need you.” The Dane chuckled which was a shock to Byzantine, most of these guards were stoic.

“Perfect, a month’s work with a year’s pay,” the Dane then extended his hand, a greeting, “No formalities, call me Mathias.” Byzantine took the Dane’s hand.

“Constantine.”

  
  


In the morning, Constantine was met with his Danish friend wandering around the palace. Taking in its intricacies. Both of them were dressed, so Constantine felt no need to interrupt him, and Mathias was staring up at the walls. Looking at the geometric mosaics adorning every corner.

“Goodness,” Mathias whispered, when he looked back down he saw Constantine and now spoke to him, “You have a lot of… Squares.” Constantine was confused momentarily, before laughing.

“We should get going,” Constantine said, “Follow me.” Mathias nodded and hurried after the Roman, trying desperately to not get distracted by the gold and art. For a short man, Constantine was fast and Mathias was having trouble keeping up. The unfamiliarity of the palace wasn’t helping, he felt as though he was drowning in its extravagance and was quite glad when they walked out into the dark dusk. Once outside with their band of men, Constantine shouted orders quickly. It was Greek, but Mathias couldn’t quite understand what was being said so he supposed it was slang. Whatever Constantine said certainly got the men moving and the pair was pushed into a carriage. 

Constantine rested his elbow on the door and held his head against his hand as if he was nursing a headache. Mathias’ legs were squeezed together, as he was much taller than the carriage could accommodate. The two sat in silence for a while and Mathias presumed Constantine to be asleep before the man spoke.

“Why did you join the guard?” He asked, “Surely you have your own responsibilities in, where are you from again?”

“Denmark.”

“Yes, Denmark. You’re a nation, you have things to take care of so why work for me?” Mathias didn’t need to think much, he knew exactly why he took up work as a guard. Sweden  _ detested _ the Varangian Guard as his own men left for it, he went as far as persecuting those men. What better way to piss of his enemy than by joining the very thing he hates and bathing in its riches?

“Sweden got pretty mad when he found out,” Mathias said simply, “You have brothers right? Nothing funnier than pissing them off.”

“My brothers are all children,” Constantine replied, “Though Nikolai is fun to annoy, he’s my cousin.” The pair sat in silence for some time more, this time Mathias actually fell asleep and Constantine was left with his own thoughts and ponderings. As Mathias slept, Constantine remembered fondly the  _ cohors Germanorum _ or the German Guard. His father’s emperors would hire tall, strong German men to protect them and as a boy, he would revel in it. He loved those soldiers as many of them would play with him and one German, in particular, his father’s own guard, took a special hand in Constantine’s upbringing. He smiled, remembering the kindness of that man. Lost in thought, he too slowly began to drift to sleep.

The first week of their trip was quiet, Mathias was bored but did not want to overstep, and Constantine kept making estimations on how much longer he had until some Bulgar eventually attacked him. At mealtimes, Constantine and Mathias were quiet. At all times, actually, with only vague conversation.  _ Oh, you look like someone I know _ , they would say or possibly even,  _ I don’t think we’ll see each other after this _ . Constantine refused to show anything but strict professionalism to Mathias, as that would prove him wrong about needing or even wanting a guard. Mathias was too frightened to overstep and be punished, so he kept his mouth sealed. The first week of their trip was quiet but it quickly simmered over.

The second week of their trip, the pair became more comfortable with each other. They held conversations not only during meals but during most of the day as well. Mathias would tell Constantine about the cold of Scandinavia and Constantine would reply with stories of his visits to Kiev. At their first large-stop, a few days to let the men and animals rest, Constantine brought out his books. The first night he read alone but the next night he was reading aloud, allowing Mathias (and in turn all of his men) to listen to the stories. When their rest was over, Constantine and Mathias were closer than ever. Reading late into the night, sharing memories, and making promises to visit the other. How like boys they were.

In the third week, Constantine revealed details of the trip. Before then, Mathias was not privy to the meaning behind this traveling but was quickly told. Constantine’s cousin, son of Thrace and “Some insane Turkish woman” in Constantine’s words.

“I take it you don’t like your aunt,” Mathias concluded.

“It’s not that I don’t like her, I just wish she wasn’t out to kill me,” Constantine laughed, “You had to have heard about how she used my emperor’s  _ skull _ for a cup, for almost a year she would find some way to present that skull to me!”

“And I thought my family was insane!”

“Oh,” Constantine’s face was in expressions Mathias had never seen before, “That isn’t even the half of it, Bulgar is just my  _ mother’s _ side.” The pair exploded into laughter until the carriage shook. Then, they were dead quiet.

The third week of the trip also had the first time Mathias had to uphold his job description. Mathias looked to Constantine and brought his finger to his mouth, telling the other man to stay quiet. He left the carriage with his weapon and watched carefully. Other men of theirs were also on guard. By now, they were deep in Bulgarian land and a hefty Byzantine parade was sure to catch attention. Mathias began to walk around the carriages, preparing to spend the night patrolling, and looked carefully at the nature around them when he heard someone make a fatal mistake: A cough. He shouted to their men and pointed in the direction of the sound, which now sprouted soldiers (possibly mercenaries, Mathias couldn’t tell). Mathias knew that he was  _ supposed _ to stay with Constantine, in case he were to be attacked, but he was not fond of others having more fun than him. He joined in the fight and felt adrenaline pump throughout him.

“You’re fine now,” Mathias said while peeking his head into Constantine’s carriage. The Roman jumped in shock but was quickly relieved and sat calmly as Mathias walked back inside, still filled with the rush of a battle. The pair slept, Constantin now relieved that he didn’t have to be the one fighting, and Mathias proud that he fought that day.

The fourth week of travel landed them in Bitola, mere days before Nikolai’s birthday. Constantine and Mathias walked into the palace and were greeted by a loud cry and Constantin being tackled. Mathias presumed that both of those were caused by Nikolai, who was now gripping Constantin. Nikolai was a short boy, his head at Constantine’s stomach, who had clearly rushed to be dressed.

“What did you bring me?” Nikolai asked automatically. Constantine patted his head before responding.

“I have no candy, but I do have presents,” Nikolai seemed sad by the lack of sweets but was very excited about his gifts, “How old are you turning?”

“Eleven, Mama is going to teach me to fight!” Constantine grimaced but was quickly pulled, his hands being gripped by his soon-to-be eleven-year-old cousin, “I want to show you your room, and then we can play chariots, or you can talk to the horses, and who’s your friend?” Mathias had been following the two slowly as Nikolai dragged Constantine.

“This is one of the Varangian Guards, his name is Mathias,” Constantine explained, “Now, all that sounds fun but I would like to talk to your mother-”

“Mama won’t talk to you,” Nikolai said firmly. Constantine scoffed.

“That is ridiculous, where is she?” Mathias felt the tension rising and was now growing concerned.

“I’m not going to tell you, she’ll be here at dinner, and then she’ll leave. She doesn’t want to talk to you.” Constantine huffed but realized he would make no progress with a child, so he relented.

“Mathias, I’ll spend the day with my cousin. Go take a look around”

At dinner, Mathias watched Constantin get dragged in by Nikolai, again, and he was clearly tired out by the boy. The boy was rambling on and on about how Constantine  _ must _ take him to Constantinople and how  _ I think Mama lost the skull so you won’t throw up again _ . Normal child things. The two sat down and Constantine looked grateful for the rest. Food was placed in front of them but the end of the table, the seats closest to Nikolai, was empty. Mathias was confused for a moment before a couple walked in. The wife, a woman he could only assume was Bulgar, was wearing a beautiful gown of green while the husband, who looked quite like Constantine, wore a white robe with deep blue and green trim. They both first acknowledged their son, both kissing his head. The man then walked to Constantine and extended his arms for a hug, Constantine stood and hugged his uncle. Thrace cast a glance at Mathias and then at Constantine, but didn’t seem to give Mathias a second thought. The woman walked to Constantin and the air in the room felt like a thick jelly, which was quickly gone when she hugged him. Constantine was shocked and very slowly wrapped his arms around her in return.

Dinner was peaceful, all talk focused on Nikolai.

That night, Constantine and Mathias spoke before bed. They spoke of their journey thus far and Constantine’s initial promise, that he would not need Mathias after this point.

“I intend to travel to Kiev, she and her husband are in a spit and she needs my support,” Constantine explained, “If you would like, you could accompany me. I wouldn’t need it but I would like for you to come.” Mathias thought for a moment and Constantine feared he would decline, “I will be paying you extra if you come.”

“Yeah, I’ll go but for how long?” Constantine shrugged.

“However long she needs me.”


End file.
